


Smooth Sailing

by iqom



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underlust, Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Assault, Sans gets drunk, Smut, Wedding Night, Weddings, at least thats what its based on lol, experienced Papyrus, flashback to violent rape, papyton, virgin Mettaton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iqom/pseuds/iqom
Summary: At best, Mettaton is shy; at worst, he is disgusted by his body. It's difficult for him to navigate a world that revolves around sex when Mettaton still drowns in nightmares of his assault.Upon meeting Papyrus, the storm abated... a little. Mettaton trusts Papyrus with everything, but still fears his wedding night.Papyrus wishes to show Mettaton he deserves to feel good. In doing so, Papyrus learns it feels even better when you're in love.They chart their course.~Underlust AU belongs to Niel @nsfwshamecave~





	Smooth Sailing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nsfwshamecave](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nsfwshamecave).



> I'm super happy to be a platinum-tier patron of Niel. I love being a supporter of this wonderful AU! It's given me so many feels and much excitement.  
> I hope this will suffice as an expression of my gratitude for all of the hard work you've done for Underlust, Niel!

“O-oh! I should probably… take off my glasses…”

The dream always started the same; Papyrus’ face hovering inches from his own.

Their foreheads collided together awkwardly, dislodging Mettaton’s glasses and causing both of them to pull away in clumsy embarrassment. Papyrus chuckled, looking up to the ceiling and passing a hand over his smooth skull in a show of nonchalance that may have been convincing if Papyrus had any hair; and thus, a reason to do such a thing. 

Mettaton could tell that he, too, was flustered, and oddly enough that gave him the confidence he needed to rest a patient palm on the growing ectoflesh of Papyrus’ thigh. _God,_ he was cute. The way his eyes snapped back to Mettaton’s face in a moment… returning his attention to the situation at hand and very clearly making a point to swallow his nervousness before leaning closer...

Papyrus smiled, gently pulling the glasses off by the bridge and reaching past Mettaton to set them gently on the coffee table. The way he smelled was ingrained in Mettaton’s psyche, apparently, as he noted it every time he dreamed of their first kiss; a rather floral cologne with a hint of rubber. It was fresh, alluring, drawing him once again towards the skeleton’s face like a needle of a compass, staunchly due north.

“W-wait,” Papyrus said, stopping Mettaton’s careful advancement, “A-are we gonna… just _smooch_ and then back away? Or are we g-gonna… hold it?”

“Let’s hold it,” Mettaton whispered, excitement and wonder coursing through his synthetic veins, “I just wanna… see what happens…”

The scent was growing overpowering, filling Mettaton’s senses, going sour, like sweat and matted fur… _oh, no..._

The fingers hooked Mettaton through the empty eye socket and dragged him backwards into murky water.

He knew what was coming, and he’d almost rather drown.

The derisive laughter pierced the waves, reeling in their helpless catch and slamming him face down onto dirty pavement. Grubby hands scratched at Mettaton’s hips, fisted his hair and thrust his cheek into the ground as they tore him apart, ignored his pleading and his tears, it was as palpable as the day it happened, wire sinews and snapped limbs and blood the color of coral, broken SOUL, broken robot, the smell, the _stench,_ his remaining eye glossed over as his resolve left his body and watched as his new life was ruined the day it began… _finally,_ they finished and admired what they had done--

And then they began to beat him--

Mettaton ripped his charger out of the wall with his thrashing, screaming into the night until Alphys came running.

* * *

 

The “groom’s dressing area”-- a glorified coat closet with a mirror-- was extremely hot, cramped, and not helping things in the least.

The crushing claustrophobia Alphys’ (albeit helpful) presence was creating steadily made Mettaton even more agitated than he already was; he had a yawning pit nestled in his soul that was very quickly becoming an abyss. He focused his energy on carefully inserting a prescription contact into his good eye; despite his protestations, Alphys had flat-out forbidden him from wearing glasses on the altar.

Oh, Christ. The altar.

“I really have to stand up there? A-Alone? The entire time Papyrus is walking up…?”

“Nah! You’ll be with Sans!”

“He’s officiating, that doesn’t count.”

“Okay… well, then yeah, you’re the groom, that’s customary.”

Mettaton heaved a heavy sigh, studying himself in the mirror as Alphys fussed with his bright yellow bow tie. “I _know,_ I know I’m the groom,” he grumbled, “I’m well aware.”

“You seem rather down… are you sure you want to do this, Mettaton?”

“Of course! Of course. I just… I’m… nervous.”

Alphys drew back and considered Mettaton’s look from head to toe. He was divine; his signature heeled boots (black, instead of pink, to match the ensemble) paired fabulously with his skinny black pants and a brand new maroon velvet jacket.

Now, if only that robot could get a _smile_ on his face!

Alphys had selected only the best venue for Mettaton; a tiny wedding chapel the color of red roses (aptly named “Wedding Chapel, Open 7 Days Til Midnight”, as indicated by the gargantuan neon sign out front), with an adorable little bridge leading over a luminescent brook from the road to the chapel’s double doors. She expected her best friend to be ecstatic; jumping for joy, as he was when Papyrus got down on his knee in the resort restaurant...

Instead, Mettaton looked as if he was going to be sick.

“It’s normal to be nervous, but like… you don’t seem _happy--_ ”

“I’m worried about tonight,” Mettaton admitted suddenly, “You know.”

Alphys knew.

“Yeah. I… I getcha.”

The two were silent for a moment. Mettaton continued to gaze into the mirror, deep in thought, while Alphys’ mind raced for the right thing to say, or really just _anything_ to say…

“I-I’m sure Papyrus… won’t mind if you just… watched a movie, or something! Or kissed all night, or _whatever_ you guys do.”

Admittedly, Alphys found it difficult to imagine what the enamored couple did in their spare time; it really seemed like only kisses, hugs, Naughty Cream and long walks. Hell, she and Undyne couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. She understood Mettaton’s reserve, but the mere phrase ‘saving it for marriage’ invoked a visceral aversion within her; like her whole gut was grimacing. _Stale milk… dryer lint.... saving it for marriage. No thanks!_

Plus, she knew firsthand what Papyrus could do.

“No, I… I want to…” Mettaton’s voice faltered as he grew increasingly self-conscious, “I don’t want to disappoint him…”

“To be honest? I don’t think there’s anything you could do to disappoint Papyrus. C’mere, I got a secret.” Alphys stood on her tiptoes and leaned up to Mettaton’s ear.  
“The guy is crazy about you.”

Mettaton couldn’t help but smile…

The door flew open with a bang, scaring the daylights out of Mettaton and Alphys both.

“Paps is ready to rumble! Get out there, ya hunk of junk!”

Undyne slammed the door as quickly as she opened it.

Alphys put an arm around Mettaton’s waist and gave him a gentle squeeze, admiring the both of them in the mirror. “You ready, champ?”

She turned towards the door. “A-Alphys, wait--”

Mettaton stood tall, taking in a deep, rattling breath and staring at himself in the mirror as if he were trying to memorize every facet of his face -- his forelock, gelled and styled impeccably over his missing eye; the other eye, dark pink in color, glittering with anxious determination; his sharp, prominent nose; his lips, parting slightly as he made direct eye contact with himself…   

“Am I beautiful, Alphys?” he murmured, brow furrowing slightly.

Alphys scoffed. “Uh. Yes.”

“Do I… deserve this?”

Alphys exhaled heavily, coming up behind him and resting a gentle hand on the small of his back.

“Mettaton. You deserve the world.”

* * *

 

All eyes were on Papyrus as he floated down the aisle, arm in arm with Undyne. The dress was truly, unimaginably beautiful; a black lace corset hugging Papyrus’ middle and giving the enamored audience a taste of his ribs gibbous through the material, dissolving beautifully into ten or so feet of luxurious white taffeta, each scallop of material set with rhinestones that gleamed in the spotlights.

The dress was an afterthought to Mettaton; he saw Papyrus first. The excitement in his eyes, the dusty pink blush rising on his jutting cheekbones… it made Mettaton’s soul leap in its container.

The audience disappeared… Alphys, nodding approvingly and giving Mettaton an encouraging thumbs up, disappeared… Sans, who stood directly beside him, disappeared… even the deafening wail of the organ faded into white noise, the room was silent, empty. Occupied only and completely by Papyrus. Drawing near. Alighting the steps. Pulling back his sheer crinoline veil. Extending a delicate hand, which Mettaton enclasped in his own.  

A tear slipped from Mettaton’s eye as the couple turned to Sans. A tear of absolute, unfettered joy.

* * *

 

Husband and husband.

Mettaton clutched Papyrus’ body to his own as he kissed him desperately, _holding it,_ relishing in Papyrus’ phalanges entangling in his hair as he dipped the skeleton forward. The guests howled in approval.

Mettaton’s knees buckled and the newlyweds collapsed on the altar, their mouths roughly torn apart for a moment by the fall before greedily reuniting.

“NOW _THAT’S_ A FUCKIN’ KISS RIGHT THERE!” bellowed Undyne from the front row. Papyrus laughed softly into Mettaton’s mouth and pulled him even closer.  

The passion between the lovers continued late into the evening. The reception was truly wild; strobe lights and strippers galore, Grillby serving cocktails like there was no tomorrow, fast-paced techno music blaring through the speakers.

Mettaton and Papyrus held interest in nothing but each other; whispering, giggling, feeding each other small pieces of red velvet cake. They blended in so quietly and effectively into the wallpaper that most guests forgot why they were even partying in the first place... but continued full-tilt anyway.

The few who did notice looked over at them and smirked, making saucy little comments. “Bet Mettaton can’t wait to… _jump his bones,_ heh”; said approximately eight thousand times to anyone who would listen by a drunken Sans. “Better clear the schedule for tomorrow, Alphee-sweet-cheeks, your robot will be needing some ass repairs”; from the ever-eloquent Undyne.

It was true; things were visibly heating up between the couple. They pawed playfully at each other’s thighs and stole kisses that lingered, all smirks and coquettish giggles from Papyrus while Mettaton beamed at him, grasped at him, stopped asking for more when he could just _have more--_

As soon as Papyrus carried Mettaton over the threshold of their bridal suite, however, the delicious buildup was gone. A rubber band, pulled tight into a quasi-slingshot just to be eased back to disappointing elastic.

The two sat next to each other at a polite distance on the plush king bed. Papyrus twiddled his thumbs. Mettaton stared blankly ahead, focusing his attention on the wooden vanity like it were the most fascinating piece of furniture he’d ever come across.

“Metta--”

“I’ve never seen you naked!” Mettaton spluttered before slapping his hands over his mouth. The ill-timed reminder had just _fallen out,_ like a short spurt of torrential rainfall; gray clouds hung over them for a moment as they separately processed the outburst.

“Well… I can… take off my dress…”

“Can we do this slowly?” Mettaton whispered into his hands, mortified. His face was flushing with the heat of embarrassment, small clouds of wet steam hissing from his cheek vents.

“I… I have an idea!” Papyrus’ voice was bright, prompting Mettaton to raise his head ever so slightly to peer in curiosity at his new husband. “Let’s… well, we can both stand up, but we’ll face away from each other… then we’ll, um, u-undress... so there’s, yaknow… no pressure or anything… and then, ah, we could turn o-on the count of three?”

Mettaton very strongly disliked being naked. He was constantly in fear of feeling exposed; the omnipresent feeling of violation he carried with him from just _existing_ in such a curvy and sensual body ate at him, kept him from being able to wash down his silicone parts without wearing a bathing suit in the shower, forced him to keep his eyes trained on the ceiling while he fumbled to change his clothes.

And yet, Papyrus’ suggestion… didn’t sound so bad. He was finding that, despite his reservations, he was beginning to trust Papyrus with what was left of his soul more than with even himself.

“Okay,” said Mettaton resolutely, swinging his feet around and hopping to the floor. Papyrus scrambled to follow suit, and the two circled round to the end of the bed to face each other.

Mettaton turned away to shed his jacket, pausing as he felt Papyrus’ gaze still resting on him. He looked back. “Aren’t you gonna…?”

“R-Right!” Papyrus whirled around.

They undressed without another word. Mettaton was going painfully slow; undoing each clasp on his jacket with utmost care, loosening his bowtie like the fabric was threatening to come apart in his hands if he pulled too abruptly. Luckily, Papyrus had many skirts, petticoats, and corsets to shed until he stood naked, shivering slightly in the drafty bedroom.

“One,” Mettaton’s voice rang out, clear as a bell, “two… three!”

The couple spun around like feuding gentlemen in a duel. Papyrus watched Mettaton’s face carefully… the robot’s eye was widening… Papyrus hoped desperately that it wasn’t too much…

No. The look was unmistakable.

Lust.

Mettaton felt his breathing quicken and he forced himself to calm down, inhaling through his nose and letting the air out slowly and deliberately between his black-painted lips. Papyrus’ bones were shining in the half-light; his fully formed pink ectotorso illuminating his ribs from the bottom while his soul, burning bright behind his sternum, exhibited the beautiful shine and smoothness of his face.

He smiled, shrugging, as if to say, _well,_ _here it is, the whole shebang!_ Despite Papyrus attempting to keep his cool under the guise of feigned nonchalance, Mettaton simply could not hide his awe; both on his face and between his legs.

Oh, wowie-- those were some _legs._ Papyrus quickly took a mental picture, wishing to keep that image ingrained in his memory forever. And to see Mettaton’s bulging want so clearly, so undeniable--

Mettaton was all of a sudden barreling towards Papyrus like a tank, visible eye as wide as a saucer. Papyrus’ mind was racing; all he could think to do was catch Mettaton by the forearms as their faces crashed together, teeth clacking audibly as the robot attempted a passionate kiss and failed miserably.

Papyrus pushed Mettaton back, perhaps a little too hard in his surprise. “W-wait, whoa, Met--”

Mettaton let out a bitter scream of frustration, fleeing to the bed and burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry--_ ”

“Hey! H-hey, no, Mettaton, it’s okay--”

“Stupid, _stupid, disgusting--_ ”

Papyrus leapt onto the bed next to Mettaton and grasped his wrists before his husband could start tearing at his hair. It was a response Papyrus was familiar with; when Mettaton grew overwhelmed (which was often), he was overcome with a compulsion to rip out tendrils of his lovely black hair from the root.

“It’s okay, listen to me, baby, _it’s okay._ It’s okay. Breathe.” Papyrus’ voice was low and soothing, and he repeated the comforting words over and over again; reducing Mettaton’s panicked babbling to soft whines in a matter of minutes.

“I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you, Papyrus, I’m so scared, I’m scared _shitless_ and I--”

“Mettaton.” Papyrus lifted the robot’s chin and looked him in the eye, stony faced and deadly serious. “We don’t have to do _anything_ tonight. Fuck society, fuck what everyone thinks. You will not disappoint me.” Taking note of his husband’s worried expression, his demeanor eased a bit and he smiled kindly. “As long as it’s the first of many spent with you, it’ll be the best night of my life. Doesn’t matter how we spend it.”

Mettaton was silent, focusing on taking deep breaths to calm his fluttering soul.

“I can’t even begin to fathom how daunting it must be… after what happened to you--”

Mettaton’s head jerked up. “No! No, Papyrus, i-it’s not about that…” he deliberated for a moment, “Perhaps somewhat? But, no… I haven’t even had the nightmare in a month or so, seriously! I’m just… the whole thing… I think it would scare me anyway, even despite… what happened.”

Papyrus looked unconvinced. “You don’t have to lie for my sake--”

“ _I’m not lying,_ ” Mettaton insisted gently. He rested a hand on Papyrus’ thigh; a gesture he was familiar with, despite now being able to feel the warm, naked flesh on his palm… “I want to do this, Papyrus. Please. Let’s try again.”

Papyrus’ voice was caught behind his tongue; that soft hand on his sensitive skin was detracting from his logical thought process. “If it’s too much, _ever, at any point…_ you’ll tell me?”

Intrigued by the obvious desire in Papyrus’ voice, Mettaton leaned a hair closer, pressing the heel of his palm into the malleable flesh and extracting a quiet sigh of satisfaction from his husband. “Yes… I promise…. let’s just… let’s take it slow, please…”

Papyrus let Mettaton come to him; holding himself still for a moment to fully appreciate Mettaton’s smooth, plastic lips pressing against his teeth before allowing his jawbone to slacken. Resting a hand on Mettaton’s, he guided the robot’s curious touches up his thigh and around to the swell of his hip, simultaneously allowing his lengthy, forked tongue to slither into Mettaton’s mouth.

Careful not to break the kiss, Mettaton shifted forward on the cushy mattress, employing both hands to better explore Papyrus. What started off painfully slow gradually and organically built in both speed and fervor until they were kissing arduously, like they had done at the party but they were _clothed_ at the party, this was different, this was _hot!_

Papyrus moved with the grace and fluidity of a veteran; nibbling at Mettaton’s earlobe, leaving a trail of pink saliva down his neck, nuzzling into his collarbone until the normally shy android had abandoned all reserve. Mettaton squirmed, whining softly, the red-and-yellow-checkerboard panel on his chestplate lighting up to match his overflowing excitement…

Papyrus gingerly eased Mettaton back until his beautiful head was resting on the fluffy pillow underneath him. “Mettaton? Have you ever…”

Mettaton’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Papyrus, who was now straddling his wide hips, their fully-hardened cocks mere inches from each other; seeing him from that angle gave him a violent thrill that scampered all the way up his spine and left his body shuddering with want. “Mmm...mm?”

“Have you… touched yourself?”

“Oh. Ah. Rubbed, a little bit, a few times… I got too embarrassed before I could--”

“That’s okay!” Papyrus interjected hurriedly, trying to avoid making his husband feel in any way awkward or self-conscious, “I’ll… well. I’ll show you. If that’s okay?”

Mettaton’s lips parted; he gazed up at Papyrus lovingly, his fuschia eye softened by his ever-growing lust. “Please.”

Papyrus leaned towards the nightstand for a moment, fingers closing around a small bottle with a red ribbon around its neck (and a handwritten tag: _happy fucking, from Alphyne!_ ). Popping the cap, Papyrus poured the syrupy liquid into his palm before tentatively reaching out to grasp Mettaton’s cock.

“A-ah!” It was cold. But then, _oh yes,_ Papyrus’ hand was sliding up and down Mettaton’s length. Papyrus watched the expressions of shock and bliss flash across the robot’s face like a vintage projector.

“Mmmm… _mmmmnnnn.... aaahhhhh…”_ Mettaton’s head fell backwards on the pillow, eyes rolling into his head. The sensation was _indescribably_ good. His hips rose toward Papyrus’ hand completely on their own accord; his legs began to shake beneath him, oh _fuck,_ he didn’t even see the thrust coming but thrust he did, hard and desperate into Papyrus’ grip as he mewled loudly for more, for tighter, for harder, for faster--

Papyrus pulled his hand away. “You doing alright so far?”

Mettaton looked up at him, the portrait of exasperation.

Papyrus grinned, and then laughed. “Just checking. Besides, I don’t want you to finish too early… I’ve got more to show you.”

Those words alone made Mettaton’s body convulse violently once again in his blazing enthusiasm. “ _Yes,_ ” he breathed, “Show me more… please, show me more....”

Papyrus sat up on his kneecaps over him, pushing another gasp from Mettaton’s lips as his fingers touched his slick cock once again to position himself accordingly…

He sank down. Slowly. Carefully. Allowing a rumbling moan to escape from behind his ribs as his magical flesh connected with silicone.  

“Feel good?” Papyrus purred, content with sitting still for a moment to watch Mettaton writhe, relishing in the robot’s hips pushing up desperately into him, seeking more friction… he was going to get it, in just a second…

Mettaton opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by his own cry of ecstasy as Papyrus raised himself up on his knees again, descended heavily, rocketed up, shot down, up, down, up, “H-how about n-now?”

“So good!” Mettaton shrieked, his desperate fingers struggling feverishly to find purchase on Papyrus’ undulating hips, “S-so _good!_ A-ah- _aahh!_ ”

Papyrus had expected Mettaton to cum quickly, but he hadn’t foreseen it with himself. With hookups, he could last hours; something about Mettaton being so completely enamored-- shyness and hesitance thrown to the wind and capitulated over to unfettered pleasure-- was really getting him close… Mettaton was as hard as a diamond and Papyrus was going rough, cramming Mettaton inside of him  _deep,_ hitting the sweet spot over, and over, and over…

Mettaton bit his lip desperately, trapping in the sounds of his impending orgasm. “Let it happen!” Papyrus encouraged, half-delirious, “C’mon, baby, let me hear it, just let it--”

Mettaton followed his instructions swiftly, allowing his jaw to fall open and releasing his frenzied screams. “S-something’s, _aghn,_ something’s h-happen… happening--”

Oh, it was happening, all right. Papyrus grasped his own cock and tugged roughly, _one, two, three,_ the pressure building and building and building and _building and oh my god,_ Mettaton was practically seizing, his body convulsing beneath him, crying out feverishly, what’s that he’s saying--

“ _Thank you! O-oh god, thank you!”_

Papyrus exploded--

“ _T-Thank you! Yes! Ye-es!”_

\--splattering himself and Mettaton, covering his ribs in sticky pink satisfaction--

“ _Papyrus, I--”_

Another final spurt, the warm droplets landing on Mettaton’s stomach--

“I… I love you...”

Papyrus collapsed forward. The couple lay still for a moment, panting heavily, Mettaton’s softening erection sliding out on its own time.

“I love you too… Mettaton...” Papyrus whispered in his ear.

The exhausted couple didn’t--  _couldn’t_ \-- budge; Papyrus was out within minutes and Mettaton powered down quietly into battery-saver soon thereafter…

He dreamed of floating in shallow, phosphorus water.

Roused at half past one with four percent battery, he hefted the heavily slumbering skeleton to the side. Carefully, so as not to disturb him.

Found his charger. Nestled beside Papyrus, who groggily pulled him close.

In Papyrus’ arms, he wasn’t afraid to fall back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> https://iqomton.tumblr.com/


End file.
